You’re a Disaster Drunk
It was endearing at first, the way your volume increase 10 decibels with every drink, and how suddenly you had to listen to/sign along with Kansas, Journey, etc. when you were drunk. I can appreciate a girl who can appreciate the classics. I even considered legitimately dating you for a while. But then…
Oh my, you’ve fallen and hurt your leg! No need to cry, you’ll be OK. Let me help you into this chair and I’ll get an ice pack. Hey, where are you going? The music is fine, nobody else is drunk enough for “Bohemian Rhapsody” yet. No seriously, you need to sit down.
I’d say I’m sorry I wouldn’t hook up with you after you puked all over my bathroom, but I’m not. God knows why you came back downstairs, sat on the floor, and occasionally interrupted the otherwise pleasant conversation to remind everyone that you didn’t want to be around anyone. You should have just gone to bed, I left you there for a reason, but instead you decided that was the appropriate time for the “Where is this going?” conversation.
I have to say, though, the nail in the coffin was the time you got naked in the middle of the club. Dutifully, a couple friends and I immediately took you home. But upon arrival, you locked me out of the bedroom in which I was supposed to sleep.
Listen, you’re lots of fun when you’re sober and I’m sure there’s someone out there for you – someone with a lower tolerance and more patience. Carry on my wayward fuckbuddy.
-Written by Bobby
